


Mind Over Matter

by Doctor_Gaster



Series: What Have I Done? [1]
Category: Markiplier and his Egos, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood, Gen, Gore, He doesn't care, Hopefully I'll finish this-, I also chat in the comments apparently XD, Not the Author in here though, Poor Host..., Really Graphic Descriptions, The Author Regrets Everything, This should have a consistent update schedule so..., Torture, crappy writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22010059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Gaster/pseuds/Doctor_Gaster
Summary: When the Host is kidnapped by an old enemy of the Markiplier Egos, it's up to Dark and the rest of their family to save the lost Ego, before it's too late.
Series: What Have I Done? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587139
Comments: 52
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to this terrible, terrible fanfiction. There's a lot of angst and hurt in here, so uh...be careful when you read this.

"Tell me what I need to know!" The hooded man threatened, slamming his hands on the table in front of The Host. "Otherwise, you will pay!"

The blind man smirked and leaned back on the hard wooden chair he was bound to. "The Host scoffs at the short man trying to intimidate him, and tells him that if he wants money, he won't get any from him and he can shove off to an ATM." The ropes he was tied with were digging painfully into his skin, and he fought to keep a faintly amused expression on his face. _The Host has got to stay strong._

The man's' face darkens and he clenches a fist. He's trying to control the rage coursing through him. If he doesn't, then the information he wants will come out sooner than he wants it to, and he doesn't want his boss to _hit_ him again.

**_The Host will cower before me and beg to be spared. What he went through is going to be nothing compared to what torture I will put him through._ **

"The stupid man controls his anger and takes a step back. He says hold on in a confused tone of voice, but The Host completely ignores him and keeps on speaking."

"Hold on-"The man's eyes widened and he tries to fight the tight grip The Host has on his mind.

"Now, the man is compelled to leave the room and let The Host escape-"

"SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP AND STOP TALKING, YOU ARE AS ANNOYING AS A FLY, YOU TWO FACED SHEEP!" The man snapped and shook off the last threads of The Host's magic, the heavy Aura lifting from his brain.

The trapped Ego is shocked but doesn't let it show. "The Host smirks and remarks that if I had two faces, do you think I would be wearing this one?" The blind man shifts covertly around in his chair, trying to see if he could wiggle his way out of his bonds, but the ropes were too tight, and his brain and muscles too weak.

"Don't you dare quote Lincoln and trade words with me." The man who has yet to be revealed glares at The Host with an expression of unchecked rage on his face. A vein on his temple is pulsing faintly, throbbing in time with his rapid heartbeat.

"Ah yes, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt. So I shall stop talking, just for your sake." The Host says, trying to repress a smile. He supposed to be fearing for his life right now, but he's enjoying trading insults with this human. Honestly, he's missed banter like this. He would usually do this with his brother but-

No. He won't think of him.

"And now you're quoting Shakespeare. Great." The man pulls his hood lower, hiding his eyes and facial expression from the vantage point of you, reader.

"Ah, I'm sorry if what I am saying is too advanced for you to understand." There is a small squeak as the chair slides over the stone floor of the small basement.

The other man doesn't grace this with a response. He simply raises a fist and punches The Host in the jaw. The Host's head snaps backward from the impact and he turns his head to spit out blood welling from his mouth. "The Host congratulates you for catching him unawares. It won't happen again."

Now, The Host starts to think again. Before, it seemed like he was in a dream-like state, completely detached from his body. He wasn't focused on what was coming out of his mouth. The metallic taste of blood in his mouth brought him back to the present. He wasn't a numb, unfeeling shell of himself anymore. Now, the fog has cleared and he could begin to formulate a plan to get out of there.

Meanwhile, the other man relished the feeling of making another feel pain and cracked his knuckles. **_He'll pay. They'll all pay for what they did to me._** He walks around the table and-

"There is a small creak as the short man puts his hand on the arms of The Host's chair. He leans in, and in response, The Host leans backward to get away from-"

"Here's the deal, boy," The man spits out venomously, interrupting the Host's narrations. "You are going to stop trying to use your pathetic gift to escape, because, let me tell you, that isn't going to work. You are going to cooperate fully with me, and if you do, I won't be forced to kill you prematurely."

"Hm, can The Host say just one thing?" The blind man says, wrinkling his nose and leaning away from his kidnapper. "You need to get out of his face. Frankly, he doesn't like the smell of sweaty socks in his face, wasting his precious oxygen."

"You're a blind little-"

"Yes, The Host is blind. Calling you stupid now would be an insult to stupid people."

"Are you trying to make me kill you?" The man stares incredulously at The Host. "Don't you care that you've been taken from your family against your will, and are about to be tortured mercilessly by my boss?"

The Host lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "The Host has had worse."

"You are the most insufferable-" The man started.

"Yes, yes, The Host knows."

"Well." There is a sound of cold resolve in the stranger's voice. "Let's see how cocky you will be after a few days of solitude."

"The Host sighs and states that if he had eyes he would be rolling them. He's spent almost his entire life in solitude. Why would a few days break him?"

The man chuckles and looks at The Host with some sort of pity. "You have no idea what it does to your mind. Your very soul." The man strides over to the metal door.

The Host could not resist a parting shot. "So, how long did it take for you to find yours?"

The door slammed shut.

And The Host started to laugh, his whole body shaking with the force of his mirth.

He can't seem to stop.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback time!

"The Host discovers that the man was right."

_Nothing._

There was nothing to do, nothing to hear, and nobody to talk to. There were only four walls with a locked metal door, a table, and a splintered chair whose remains were scattered around the cold room. The Host had escaped from his bonds an hour ago.

Or was it 5 minutes?

Or maybe it was a day?

His sense of time passing was not in top condition, as he had relied on one of the other Egos to tell the time for him. His regular visions told him what happened a few seconds or a few minutes or maybe a few hours ahead of when it actually does occur, and it gets tiring trying to keep track of the present time. 

The last time he tried, he wound up with a very bad migraine.

The chill of the room pierces the heavy fabric of his dark beige trenchcoat, and seems to sink into his bones, settling there like an unwanted guest in your house. The only sound in the room is his deep breaths, which he struggles to keep from turning in the short gasping breaths of a panic attack. The panic is trying to pull him under, to the place that nobody can extract him out of. The place of darkness and despair.

But, to distract him from the impending tide of fear, and to help you, reader, he thinks of how he got into this predicament in the first place.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------Flashback------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Wilford, I swear, if you don't get your skinny behind back here, I will ground you!" Mark screeched at the man running around his living room, waving a very sharp looking knife in hand.

It was almost 11: oo (23:00) at night, and Wilford Warfstache, senior reporter and eccentric murderer, was still very, very hyperactive. Imagine a squirrel that has inhaled 20 tons of sugar, and you will get an idea of what Wilford is 24/7.

He was running around the expansive living room of Markiplier Manor, which Mark had come, via the Void, to visit the Egos. He had brought Chica with him, and now the golden retriever was chasing after the maniac, barking like she had spotted a mailman. Wilford had grabbed the knife from the kitchen, and Mark had spotted the weapon and started to run after him.

"No!" Mark yells. "Chica, don't give him an audience!"

Bim Trimmer, who is in the corner of the room, sitting in one of the armchairs by the fireplace raises an eyebrow at Mark and gestures to the room, "Mark, I'm pretty sure he already has an audience."

Google, everybody's favorite genocidal android, was sitting on the couch updating and watching the events with a small smirk on his face. The soft white light of his upgrade notification partially lit up his face, and the dark blue bar was almost full.

The Jim Twins were sitting next to Google and giggling to themselves while fiddling with a pack of cards. The pair were, as always, inseparable, and the two always stuck by each other's side like glue.

The Host was in the other armchair by the fireplace, notebook on his lap and muttering furiously. The sleeves of his trenchcoat were rolled up to his elbow, and the slightly pink bandages covering his eye sockets were starting to slip down his face.

"COME ON MARK, LET ME STAB SOMEBODY!" Wilford leaped over the coffee table and sprinted towards the front door, Chica hot on his heels, swerving around chairs and a red, wet stain on the floor. I'm sure you can guess what it is.

"No!" Mark shouted, and tried to swerve around the coffee table, but his foot caught on the fluffy grey carpet and, instead of jumping over the table, he crashed into it with a rather painful grunting noise. He moaned in pain, clutching his stomach.

Chica, ever the loyal dog, halted her pursuit of the bubblegum man and trotted over to her groaning owner, and proceeded to flop down on his chest.

Wilford reached the door and took hold of the golden doorknob, and found that it was locked. "Oh come on!" He screeched, and in a fit of rage, he drove his knife into the dark brown wood of the door, almost severing it in half. "Oops."

And, with impeccable timing, this was the moment Darkiplier chose to appear at the top of the stairs. The demon could sense a rising frustration in the Host and a wave of pain coming from the Mark. He couldn't care less about his softer Alter Ego, but he was concerned for the Host, as he knew what he was capable of when he was frustrated.

After all, Google's programming was never quite the same after that. However, that's a story for another day.

Dark let part of his aura seep into the room, deepening the shadows and turning the air colder. The fire that was burning in the fireplace started to flicker and almost went out. The ringing noise that accompanied him everywhere grew louder and filled the room. The Jims froze and looked at each other, and then at Dark.

Google smirked even wider and his core started to whir louder. The logo on his chest glowed brighter as he made a small beeping noise equivalent to laughter. There was a soft, barely audible ding as his software finished updating, and a small black box with scrolling green text popped up in front of him. The android flicked it away as one would a fly, and focused on the scene in front of him.

The Host didn't seem to notice the dark Ego entering the room and continued to scribble and erase furiously in his grey notebook. His brow was furrowed in frustration, and the bandage wrapped around his eye sockets started to turn a dark red and the blood started to drip slowly down his face.

At the telltale signs of Mark's opposite, Wilford ceased kicking the door, stiffened and turned to face him. He looks like a child who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Dark teleported down the stairs and in front of Wilford, who seemingly shrinks back. Dark and Wil are the same height, but Dark's aura surrounded him in a menacing shadow that cloaked him and made him intimidating, even to Wilford, who is Dark's equal in power. "What is going on here?"

Wilford adopted a sheepish grin. "Well, you see here Dark, here's the thing. I, uh, was going to go outside for some fresh air w-"

"Objection!" Mark piped up from his position on the floor. His voice is slightly muffled, and at the sound of her owner's voice, Chica's tail starts to thump on the floor. "He was going to m-"

"BAH!" Wilford exclaimed, momentarily distracting Mark from his sentence. Then the pink mustached man snapped his fingers, summoned a pink scarf, and made it wrap tightly around Mark's mouth, successfully stifling all speech for now. "Whaaat? He has no idea what he's saying. He's crazy."

At this, the twins erupted into laughter, Google made another series of beeping noises, and Bim had collapsed into a fit of giggles. The Host simply scrunched down into his trench coat and groaned softly, his hand flying up to tug at his hair

Dark blinked at Wilford and cocked his head. "Wil..." The demon shook his head. "Never mind."

Wilford looked at the other Egos with a confused expression. "What are they laughing at?"

Dark sighed. "Nothing Wil, don't worry about it." _It's strange that he doesn't remember anything about that night...but I suppose it's for the best._

Wilford crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I believe that I do have the right to go around the manor with a knife, and if I accidentally poke someone with it, then it's their fault for running into it."

Dark cleared his throat and sighed once more. "Wilford, as much as I would love to let you murder people, we have to begrudgingly respect Mark's wishes, even though it pains me to do so."

At the word murder, Dark's voice got even more echoey than normal, and the ringing that was already noticeable enough got almost unbearable before it calmed itself down. It seemed that a hidden meaning was embedding into that one word. Google seemed to notice the slight emphasis and pulled up a file in his vast memory drive entitled: _The Mayor, the Witch, and the Spirit._

However, we are not here for Google just yet, reader. That story is also for another time.

Wilford, as always, was oblivious to the events that happened in the span of a split second. Nevertheless, you could do many things in a second. _Blink your eyes, turn the page of a well-worn book, smile at the antics of your younger and sometimes annoying siblings, you c-_ **You can pull the trigger of a handgun, finally finishing the job of killing your family after the wrongs they did to you; you could press the button that will seal the fate of a million people. You could kill. You could make the decision to brutally torture the one man that has been stalking your dreams, prowling your mind space, and invading every waking thought. Many things, very many things, dear reader, can happen in the space of a second.** And so, Wilford, ever for theatrics, sighed dramatically and turned to pull the large kitchen knife wedged rather deep into the door.

Suddenly, a small, frustrated scream startled Wilford into almost dropping the knife on his foot. Only Dark's aura stopped him from being impaled. The group of Egos and their creator turned to the Host, who threw his notebook and pen at the wall. The only sound in the room was the Host's ragged breathing and the crackling of the fire.

The uneasy silence was broken by the Host muttering a short apology, and grabbing his notebook and pen where he so unceremoniously tossed them. He then narrated his way over to the stairs, quickly climbed up and slammed the door to his room, all while the other Egos were watching him with varying expressions of confusion.

The blind Ego was usually calm and docile. The only time any of the others saw him the slightest bit angry was when the Jims hid his trench coat. But, even then, he only spoke a few cold words and sent the Jims scrambling to find the lost garment. This type of outburst is completely unheard of. 

What could have sent him into such an unusual form of behavior...?


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of the flashback (heh more like Fischbach-) and more vision stuff!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, so it is a proven thing that I have absolutely no self-control when it comes to a consistant update schedule. I'm honestly really excited about this chapter; it's my favorite one besides the upcoming chapter five. Hoo boy, that one's gonna be a rough one. Anyways, here's Chapter Three, delivered to your doorstep bright and early XD

_-In the Host's bedroom-_

The vision... why can't he get a clear read on it? It is like sand, slipping through his fingers and becoming lost in the river of memory. _It starts off so blurrily and undefined. What he thinks are humans are just colorful blobs floating around in a black background. There was one voice repeating something insistently. The vision swam as if it was underwater, and then a scream split the air, shattering the already uneasy silence. Red blood splattered the grey wall and slowly dripped down his field of vision. The smell of iron and death filled the air, and he can't breathe..._

With a jerk of his head, the Host shook off the vision and slumped against his bedroom wall. All of the energy had left his body, leaving him drained and exhausted. Most of his life-changing or life-threatening visions, whether it be to himself or any of the other Egos, left his energy reserves sapped. He stood up shakily and barely stumbled over to his bed before he passed out.

* _Time Skip_ *

The Host was not sure what woke him up. It seemed that he was sleeping for just a few minutes and he groaned loudly, tugging nervously again at his hair. "What is wrong with him?"

**Everything, my dear Host.**

"The Host sits up and stretches, using his Sight to check the time and finds it to be 1:30 am." The bed creaked loudly, and he froze. Some of the other Egos were very light sleepers, and there were many times when he got up late at night to go sit by the fireplace in the living room and Dark or Doctor Iplier would come running, asking if something was wrong. After a few minutes of silence, only punctured by the overhead vent turning on, the Host stood up and walked over to his desk.

His joints were stiff after falling asleep in his trench coat, and it didn't help towards his bad mood. He stretched, wincing painfully at the crackling sound his joints made. "This is terrible." He grumbled. 

He would always be tired after visions like those, but symptoms like these are completely unheard of.

A small, almost inaudible thump made the Host Lookup sharply. _Could it be one of the others?_ He thought, with a nervous glance around the room with his Sight. Everything looked to be in order; nothing had fallen down and nothing is out of place. Suddenly the safe haven of his bedroom Looks sinister in the dim light of the quarter moon, which does not help him See any better. The darkness seems to be swallowing him whole, it's inky tendrils crawling up his arm, taking hold of his neck and squeezing tightly...

"N-no!" The Host shouts. "Stop it! The Host should not- no, will not think about such things. The dark just unnerves him, that's all."

**You should be more than just unnerved. You should be scared. You should be terrified. Your brief reprise is only temporary. You will suffer by my hand. You will feel pain unlike any other you have toiled through. You will suffer as I have suffered. Mark my words, reader. Mark them well.**

The Host felt another headache blooming, worse than the ones he had earlier. A wave of nausea hit him, and he put one hand against the desk chair to steady himself. He felt like two woodpeckers had taken up residence in his skull, and they started pounding on his brain relentlessly.

"The Host is getting increasingly nervous and the headache is getting unbearable. Maybe he sh-" The Host was suddenly rocked with a wave of dizziness that left him on the floor with the room listing under him, like the deck of a sinking ship.

_The walls shouldn't be doing that..._ He thought feverishly. _They aren't supposed to be spinning around in circles... W-what is going on?_

**Oh, you'll find out soon enough.**

He rolls onto his stomach and shakily gets to his knees, using his Sight once more to grab ahold of the corner of his desk. In doing so, he caught Sight of an old, bloodstained bat that was tossed unceremoniously in a corner many, many years ago. At the Sight of that weapon, he is hit with another wave of dizziness, this time with unwelcome flashes of memories that are not his own.

"The Host... The Host would rather not... rather not remember those." He gasped out. "T-too pain...ful..."

The front of his trenchcoat is covered in blood, staining the beige fabric a dark, rusty brown-red. He took a deep shuddering breath and almost gagged on the scent. "No!"

He dropped to his knees again, holding his head as if to keep it from splitting open. Memories that were both his own and not flashed through his head.

**The knife driving into a child's chest, her blood spurting out everywhere, splattering out on your hands.**

"I-it's not real!" He cried out. "It's all a dream! J-just a dream!"

**Sticking electrical wires into the carved open stomach of a famous business tycoon. Reveling in his screams as you press the button to send 120 volts of electricity sparking through his body.**

"N-no... n-no..."

**Your so-called family lying dead at your feet. Blood is splattered on the walls. Pools of it are on the floor. And you... You are covered in it.**

"...N-no..."

A malicious laugh filled the air and seemed to echo in The Host's ears. "Hello, my dear Host."

A shadowy figure seemed to materialize from thin air, and he stepped towards the helpless Ego lying on the floor. The darkness shrouding him seems to be rolling off of him in waves, tainting the floor around him, and the Host feels a sense of _wrongness._

Two doors down, Darkiplier looked up from his paperwork, a frown on his face. _I thought I... it's probably nothing. It's probably Wilford using the Void to summon food again._ Shaking off the odd feeling that something was wrong, he bent down over his work.

The Host felt exhaustion dragging him down, clouding his mind, and dampening his senses. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, where the last shred of rationality had curled up in hiding, thought that this was wrong. _Something was wrong, very wrong, and he is not able to stop it..._

The figure bent down and took ahold of the Host's chin, and looked at the Ego with raging fury. "I told you," He snarled. "I told you you will pay."

"W-ho..." The Host fell unconscious, unable to finish his sentence.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------Flashback End-----------------------------------------------------------------------

"The Host sighs loudly."

He has completely lost track of time. The blood soaking the bandages on his face has almost completely dried; he can feel the fabric growing stiff and uncomfortable.

_Nothing. Nothing. Nothing._

A numbing cold has seemed to have taken over his whole body, and he has lost all feeling in his fingers and toes. But it's a welcome distraction from the thoughts that plague his mind now.

_Did the strange man take any of the others? The other stranger's boss... The Host has an inkling of who he might be but...he doesn't want to think of those implications._

_But why just The Host? His kidnapper could have gotten Darkiplier or Wilford. Both of them are more powerful than him, and they could have held either one of them for ransom and have gotten the most profit from it. Mark wouldn't want any of his Egos to die, right? After all, we are a part of him..._

_They probably don't even know that The Host is gone. He's locked up in his room all the time, scribbling away with his quill, writing down all the visions that he has, and he doesn't spend enough time with the others. The only person who checks on him to make sure he is actually eating and sleeping is the kind Doctor Iplier, but The Host is sure that the doctor is morally obliged to do that._

The Host gives a small start as he hears the loud clunk of the overhead vent turning on. "The Host sighs in exasperation as a blast of cold air hits him in the face."

He's beginning to think that the man wants him to die of hyperthermia instead of having his "boss" torture him.

He brings up a hand to his bandages and feels it squish. He frowns as the familiar iron smell of blood reaches his nose. _The Host's eyes are bleeding again-? How unless...oh no._

Blood.

So much blood.

All over the table.

Floor.

Walls.

A primal scream.

Full of rage.

Hate.

Pain.

_Pain..._

_Agonizing pain..._

_The blobs are moving again. There are only two of them. One seems to be glowing with strobes of red and gold light, and the other has a dim, dusty gold light that keeps on flickering like the flame of a candle. Above them are two vague humanoid shapes battling for survival. Neither one of them is gaining the upper hand. The heavens shake mightily before their godlike powers, while bursts of white radiance surrounding both of them, illuminating everything and nothing._

I can't breathe...

_Below, the red and gold blob drove a flash of silver into the body of the gold blob. Suddenly, the light surrounding the flickering gold blob sputtered and went out, leaving the shape above him to stare down in horror._

_A silent scream pierced the air. The room suddenly turned into a blank, grey and cold space that dissolved into white noise. And eventually, that faded away too..._

Leaving the Host leaning against the wall, breathing heavily and trying to make sense of the confusing vision. He clutched his chest and slowly slid down until he hit the cold floor.

"T-The H-H-Host... isn't...." He tried to narrate, but the room seemed to grow colder and his mouth felt sticky, and he couldn't seem to push the words out of his mouth. He started to gasp for breath again. It felt like something was in his throat, blocking his ability to breathe.

Then, at the worst possible moment, the dizziness from earlier came back, this time much worse. He groaned and held his head to keep it from splitting open. _T-this is getting ridiculous..._

Nausea rose up in his throat, and he clapped a hand over his mouth to keep him from throwing up whatever was left in his stomach. His captor didn't give him any food or water, so in addition to feeling sick, it felt like a shark was chewing his stomach into little bits, and his mouth felt dry as a desert. _I can't..._

He felt his awareness slip away as he faded once more into unconsciousness. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the rest of the Egos find out that the Host is missing, and a letter is found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaa sorry for the shorter chapter, but right now, all of my creative juices are focused on chapter five and the other chapter like it... that's when the warning will REALLY come into play, so you guys be careful with that... but for now, enjoy this chapter, and I'll try to make five as long as possible to make up for it.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HE’S GONE??!” Mark screeched into the phone, his too loud voice almost shattering Dark’s eardrums.

The demon winced and adjusted his grip on the device. “That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”

Mark chose to ignore the snarkiness coming from his alter ego and asked, “How did you guys find out?”

“Well, Doctor Iplier came into The Host’s room to change his bandages and he found him missing from his room.”

“But why did the Doc sound the alarm? Surely it’s no big deal? Maybe he’s on a walk or something.” Mark laughed nervously. He doesn’t want to think about the implications of one of his Egos being missing. He considers himself personally responsible for each and every one of them, and could never forgive himself if anything happened to them. He saw himself as their father figure and mentor, except for maybe Dark. Their relationship is...complicated, more like brothers who like to argue with each other and occasionally try to murder each other. Except that’s more on Dark’s end.

Dark sighed. “Mark. The Host is basically a hermit, you know that, right? He almost never comes out of his room, except for the occasional meal, and even then, he might forget to do even that. He likes his privacy, so the only Egos he allows into his room is Doctor Iplier and me, and sometimes he doesn’t let us in. The longest we have gone without seeing him is for 3 weeks, and that was when he was working on deciphering one of his more major visions. And do you know what he did when we tried to get him to go out and do things during that period?”

Mark’s voice was a tiny, hoarse whisper, barely audible through the phone’s tiny receiver. “What?”

“He got angry and kicked us out of his room.” Dark responded with a hint of anger in his voice, though it wasn’t directed at Mark or the Host, more towards himself. “He locked us out with his abilities. Nobody could get in. Not even I could, and I. Tried. Everything. From teleportation to trying to kick down the door. Nothing worked. I thought he had died, or got hurt badly and didn’t want to mention it. And it turned out that he really did need that privacy because he interpreted that vision just in time to save all of our lives. Do you see, Mark? Somebody must’ve taken him from his room somehow.”

“Okay.” Mark took a deep shaky breath. “Okay. We need to figure out where he went and how to get him back.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Dark muttered sullenly. Mark can be very annoying at times, especially when he’s stating the obvious. “Anyway, Google and his extensions have all of the video recordings on the security cameras in the manor. Our only problem is that we can’t find any of the extensions and when we looked at G’s footage, it didn’t show anyone entering the Host’s room.”

“Wait, wait, the extensions are missing??” Mark’s voice rose an octave. “When did they go missing?”

Before Dark could reply, Wilford quite literally crashed into the room, tripping over the coffee table (they really needed to move that somewhere else-) and landing in a sprawling heap at Doctor Iplier’s feet. 

“Hello, my fine companions!” He announced loudly, pushing his bright pink hair out of his face and waving a piece of black construction paper. “I know who took the Host!”

Everybody in the room went through the same thought process. 

_How in the fresh hell did Wilford manage to find something we didn’t?!_

“Uh… I’ll call you back.” Dark said distractedly, hanging up before Mark could reply and shoving the phone in his suit pocket.

Doctor Iplier bent down and extended a hand to help the bubblegum man up. Wilford took it and almost pulled the Doctor down with him in trying to stand up. After a few seconds of adjusting grips, sharp words and quiet laughter, Wilford finally managed to focus long enough on standing up to actually complete the task.

Dark raised an eyebrow when the man in question teleported on top of the living room table, much to the exasperation of the Doctor, who had just cleaned the table earlier this morning. Wilford then took the construction paper and waved it around without even glancing at it. “IT WAS THE AUTHOR!”

At this, the whole room erupted into complete and total chaos.

The King of the Squirrels, who was curled up on the armrest of the couch, gave a startled squeak and toppled off. He fell onto the floor with a loud thump and didn’t bother to get up. Dark winced as small tremors started to wrack his body, and the distraught Ego started hyperventilating.

Bim jumped off the armchair he was lounging in and quickly rushed over to the King, moving to sit next to him and trying to comfort him.

The Jims moved closer to each other and started talking in low whispers which, believe me, is very unlike them.

Ed, Silver, Wilford, and Google were all talking loudly and over the others. Google was lagging a little, distress evident on his face. Wilford, of course, was the loudest and most noticeable, being on the table and having the advantage of being used to projecting his voice. 

Overall, the room was an explosion of sounds, and was making King become even more panicked, especially when one of the others would say the same “Author.”

Bim frowned and looked up at Dark. Their gazes met and a silent conversation passed between the two of them. Dark sighed. _Okay, Bim. If only for the King._

The oldest Ego unleashed some of his Aura into the room, letting it sink into the foundations and settle there, giving everybody in it a cold chill run up their spines. A loud, familiar ringing noise filled the air, making all the Egos feel as if they have cotton shoved in their ears. They all shut up and turned to Dark.

“ _Enough._ ” His voice echoed throughout the room. Anybody with a trained ear could hear the barest hint of strain in his voice as he fought to keep ahold of his Aura. Luckily, they were all too busy paying attention to the physical manifestation of his Aura, which swirled around him like a mini hurricane, though with significantly less power. “ _Be quiet, all of you._ ”

He waited a few seconds to make sure that he had their undivided attention and then began to speak.

“Panicking and being stupid will not help us get the Host back. If we want to save him and kick the Author’s ass in the process, we’ve got to get our shit together and stop acting like demented fools that have no idea what the hell we’re doing.”

As he was speaking, his Aura puffed up, much to Dark’s annoyance, sending more tendrils of smoke curling around his body. He could feel her trying to wrest control from him, but he did not give an inch.

There was a beat of silence as Dark waited for his words to sink in. 

“Oh!” Wilford exclaimed, jumping off the table and bounding over to Dark. “Here’s the letter that was in his room...it’s probably from the Writer, or whatever his name was...”

Dark felt his eye twitch as he took the yellowed piece of paper that the bubblegum man extended to him. _Wilford and his short attention span..._ “Why didn’t you give it to me before?”

Wilford shrugged nonchalantly and fiddled with his suspenders. “I dunno, I forgot about it.”

Dark sighed as his Aura floated out to ruffled Wilford’s hair, who made a startled noise and batted it away. 

The demon unfolded the paper and began to read it aloud.

It is as follows:

Hello again, characters…

I told you I would be back. After that **_abomination_ ** took my Body and _banished_ me to the **_Void_ ** , I have been thinking and biding my time. For what, you ask? Well, to enact my **_revenge_ ** of course. It has been _three years_ since I last graced your presence. I look forward to meeting you again… whether it be in battle or in a truce. 

I’m sure you’re wondering how the Host is? Well, be rest assured that you will never see your precious _Host_ ever again. Don’t try to come after him, or I will make his death slower and more painful.

-𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔑𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔢

When he finished, the room was dead silent. Nobody moved or spoke, which was a miracle unto itself, considering the company in it. 

Then, Wilford broke the silence. “Dark… what are we going to do?”

The tight hold the demon has been keeping on his Aura slipped, and his shell started to crack, showing ghostly images of Dark doing a myriad of things. The ringing noise in the room grew slightly louder in pitch, and every single Ego sensed trouble brewing on the horizon. “ _I’ve got to think._ ” He growled, trying to fight off the swirling darkness inside his head. “ _For now, go back to your rooms._ ”

“But Dark-” Wilford tried.

“ **_No._ ** ” He hissed, his shell splintering even more. “ **_Go._ **”

Everyone knew when to leave Dark alone, and they hightailed out of the living room. The only Egos left were a struggling Dark and a patiently waiting Google.

With tremendous effort, Dark reigned in his Aura, which had slipped through the cracks in his control. She ached to be free, she wanted to control him, control everything. She wanted to dominate the world by setting it on fire and reigning as Queen in the ashes.

 _I am in control, I am in control, I am in control._ He repeated that mantra inside his head, wrestling the tendrils of shadows inside his mind.

Google looked at him with a hint of concern in his robotic features. “Dark.”

“No,” He forced out. “I just… I just need a minute.” He squeezed his eyes shut. _Control it, control it. Don’t let it out yet. It’s not time._ With a hiss, the darkness retreated to a secluded corner in his mind space to bide its time. 

After the demon subdued his aura, he spoke to the android. “What...what is the probability of finding the Host?” he asked, running a nervous hand through his hair.

Google sighed. “By my calculations, 100%.”

Dark raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes. We will find him. That is certain. The real question is, will he be dead or alive?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys soooo much for reading, and I will be posting the long-awaited chapter five (at least awaited by me-) next Saturday!


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small talk between our captor and the not so mysterious villain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay...I've got to explain a few things. This isn't the chapter five I was looking forward to, because The Author HEKKING TOOK MY PLOT, SHATTERED IT, AND YOTE IT OUT THE WINDOW.
> 
> I now headcanon them as bros, and the original ch 5 was supposed to be the first big torture scene, but noooo my stupid small brain said, "sksksk THEY'RE BROTHERS NOW" and now I have to rewrite the whoooole plot and forget all of the prewriting that I did T^T
> 
> Ack, anyways, hope you guys enjoy this!

For the second time, the Host woke up in an unfamiliar place. He could feel thick, heavy chains wrapped around his wrists, binding him to a cold, hard slab of metal. The chains dug into his wrists and he could feel them chafing against his skin. A draft of cool air made the hairs on his arms raise up, and his breath hitches as he realizes that his captor had removed his trench coat.

_ No nononono.  _ He struggled against the chains, making them rattle and clink against each other.  _ He has got to get out. He has got to get out and warn- _

“Ah,” A voice speaks up from The Host’s right. It’s a different one from before, one that’s infinitely more chilling, and...familiar. “He wakes. I wondered if I overdosed you this time.”

_ Overdose?  _ The Host frowns.  _ How did- The Host comes to a sudden realization.  _ “T-the Host tells… whoever you are to kindly fuck off.”  _ It was the air vents... _

His chest was tight with worry. The Host hopes that his kidnapper didn’t get any of the others. If they haven’t realized he was missing, then if this mysterious person decides to take one of the others, then they would be helpless against him, if the man overpowered and outsmarted him so easily.

_ The Egos, his family, lying dead in a puddle of blood, their magic gone, leaving an aching hole in the Host’s chest where they once lit up his life. _

No. He will not think of such things.

The man brushed off his insult and sneered at him, walking over to an unknown location. “What? You don’t remember me?”

“The Host is fairly certain that he has never met you before.” 

The man started to laugh, the sound strange and foreign in the heavy silence of the room. “Oh you should,  _ my dear Host.  _ After all, you and I were of one mind and comrades in another life.”

_ I-It can’t be. He can’t be back…  _ “You’re-You’re not real.” The Host shuddered, pushing down a rising tide of panic and guilt. He's got to keep a clear head. “You’re dead.”

After the fateful day when his beloved brother almost killed him and the rest of the Egos, Dark had banished the Author to the Void, using his Aura and Wilford’s help to do so. His brother screamed about revenge, he begged The Host to join him, to help him, but The Host had sat there and  _ watched.  _ Just  _ watched _ as his beloved brother was banished to the roiling, inky abyss. 

He tried to bury the upsetting memories in a locked box inside his brain, but they occasionally resurfaced when he was thinking of the lost Ego, or when Dark’s presence in the room was too much to bear, and he couldn't stop the barrage.

“Am I really dead?” The phantom smirked. The Host heard a metallic shik, like the sound of a knife being taken out of its sheath. “If I was dead, I wouldn’t be able to do… this!”

The Host felt a sharp sting on his right side and inhaled sharply as he felt blood start to trickle down his side. He knew that if his brother did not have mercy on him if he left him there like he had abandoned him a lifetime ago, he would bleed slowly to death. “N-no. Y-You’re just a part of my imagination.”

The man laughed again, the sound sending an icy shiver down the Host’s spine, though that may be due to the coldness of the room. “If I were really a part of your imagination, then you would wish me away before you even got hurt. I know about your condition,  _ Host.  _ I know everything there is to know about you, and things you have never bothered to find out for yourself.”

The Host’s Sight flashed, and he beheld his worst nightmare, his best friend, his...his real,  _ true  _ family standing there,  _ grinning _ at him. His lost brother. “N-no. Y-you…”

The Author hissed at him. “Yes, I’m back. And you will  _ obey  _ every command that I ask of you, or else it will end poorly for you, my dear brother.”

The Host could feel the shadow-like tendrils of his brother’s power trying to wiggle his way into his brain, trying to invade his thoughts, his very actions, his very feelings. Luckily he has spent years honing his mental barriers in case an attack like this came. But he didn’t expect to be taken like this… he was counting on the other Egos to help strengthen his defenses.

“But they aren’t coming.” The Author sneered, holding his knife out in front of him and examining the blood on the blade. “Nobody is coming for you.”

The Host gaped in surprise. “H-how did you-”

The Author cut him off with another harsh, grating laugh. “Did you forget so soon? I have been  _ inside your head, Host.  _ I know exactly what is going on inside there. I know what you’re thinking, I know what you’re planning. You can’t hide from me.” 

The blind man felt a whoosh of air and then a dull thump next to his head that startled him into making a small squeak. His Slight flashed, and the Sight of a bloodstained metal bat made nausea roil in his stomach. _All of the things he did with that..._

“You’re worthless to them.” 

The Host’s Sight flashed again, and he zeroed in on the blood on the knife,  _ his blood, _ glinted off of the cold metal, and he could not stop a shudder. “T-that’s n-not true…?”

The Author’s mocking laughter sliced through the silence. “Really? You think that I’m lying?” The forgotten Ego fingers the tip of his knife, the sharp edge slicing open his skin, making a small spot of blood appear on his fingertip. “Why haven’t Dark and the rest of your so-called  _ family  _ come and save you? I was your only family, Host, and I left you.”

The kidnapped Ego flinched at that, and memories flashed through his head.

_ He and his brother holding onto each other as kids, promising they’ll be there for each other, no matter what. _

_ The two of them making cookies together in the kitchen with a younger Darkiplier watching them. _

_ The Author holding a knife to their creator’s throat. _

_ Author...leaving him, breaking their promise. _

“W-why…?” The Host asks, shifting uncomfortably on the metal table. The small surface wound on his side stung, but it wasn’t distracting to him. Yet. “We p-promised-” His voice broke at the end, revealing to his...enemy the true distress that he felt.

The Author scoffed, shaking his head as if to shoo away his own memories. “You should’ve known that any promises I make are always... _ always _ broken.”

“But The Host asks  _ why. _ ”

A sigh. 

Then, “You were always so persistent. Very well. I was tired, brother. I was tired of Darkiplier always hovering over me, I was tired of him stifling my power, my potential. He could clearly see that I had magic that rivaled him, could surpass him with the correct teacher.”

“The Host is still confused. Why did you leave? If you could’ve talked to Dark, The Host is sure he-”

His words were cut off when the Author slammed a hand next to his head. “ _ No. _ Can’t you just open your mind and pay attention? Darkiplier was trying to work against me, and by extension,  _ you. _ He wants to suppress our talent because he  _ knows.  _ He  **_knows_ ** that we are more powerful than him. We have the ability to control people, change what they think, dictate their actions. We can break them and make them bend to our will. We have control.”

The Host shook his head as much as he could in his position and choked out. “Y-you’re wrong. You’re wrong. Darkiplier was only trying to protect us from ourselves. He realized that th-the both of us are threats to each..each other and the rest of the Egos.”

“That’s just it.” The Author hissed, his voice getting quieter and louder as he paced the room. “He saw that we were threats  _ when we were helpless children.  _ He made assumptions about us and our power, and decided to manipulate us into being what  _ he  _ wanted us to be, and not what our potential could’ve shaped us to be.” 

Before the kidnapped Ego can respond, there’s a quiet thump, and the Host’s Sight flashes to see the Author with his head against the wall, muttering something unintelligible, other than the words, “...write without reason…”

The Host felt a weight on his chest that kept on growing with each minute that passed.  _ The others...they’re not coming, are they? Did they just use all this time to pretend that they care for The Host? _ Cold fear gripped his bones, and he tried to push away the impending panic attack and focus on what his brother was doing.

“Of course they’re not coming.” The Author hissed, almost absent-mindedly. “They don’t care, they never cared…”

A whoosh of air, and a slamming door later, the Host was left alone with his thoughts.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Google angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE EXTENSIONS ARE FOUND!
> 
> Not a happy occasion-

Dark and Google were chatting quietly in the corner when a shell-shocked looking Bim ducked his head in the room. “G-guys. I fo-found the extensions.”

Bim looked like he was in shock, his pupils blown wide and suit disheveled, and hair sticking up in random places. The android narrowed his eyes at the game show host, analyzing the slick patches of machine oil on his pants and shoes, like he had slipped-

_ Oh no. _

Google shot to his feet and shouldered past Bim, who leaped back with a startled yelp. Seeing a tall, human-killing android barrel at you was not something to be taken lightly. 

Dark got up more slowly, his broken joints painfully snapping back into place as he stood, and his Aura curled around him like a snoozing cat. Strange for her, since the Host disappeared, she had been restless and agitated, and by extension, that made Dark more irritable and snappy. He inclined his head at Bim. “Lead the way.”

The troubled Ego took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded, his eyes still filled with shock and horror. Bim led them down a dark hallway that the demon does not remember seeing, and the heavy smell of gasoline and machine oil reached his nose. Dark flinched as he stepped in a puddle of oil, and he looked ahead to see Google standing stock-still at the end of the hall, staring at something that the darkness hid.

As they drew closer, Bim started shaking and stopped walking completely, leaving Dark to stand next to the only surviving android.

The extensions were in a tangled heap of parts, wires and synthetic flesh, sparks shooting off of the heap of bodies. The sight made Bim hunch over, attempting to conceal his immediate revolt and utter dread. Their skin was melded together in a multitude of places; their shirts were reduced to shards of their former design, allowing whoever was within viewing distance to witness the brunt of the psychopathic bot-slaughter.

Green's torso had a gaping hole seemingly dug out in a meticulously painful fashion, exposing his mechanical innards and most of his exoskeleton. Oil leaked out of his mouth and the stump that was formerly connected to his left leg, which is now located on the bottom right wall, dented and marred beyond recognition.

Red’s head was forcefully ripped off, leaving only wires hanging from the body. Upon following the wires, you may notice that they connect to the roof, upon where one would witness the head of Red, hanging from a meat hook on the ceiling. His headless body seemed to be torn maliciously from the inside out, sparks spilling out of the twisted copper ends and several burned lumps of metal scattered around his framework, seeming like blackened human body parts.

Oliver was a lump of completely unrecognizable grey metal, all traces of the formerly cheerful extension erased. Nothing was left to show that he was operational, he was  _ alive  _ before someone, presumably, the Author, did this appalling act to him. The youngest android was the one who expressed more human emotions and tendencies, and while the rest of the Google’s thought that the proneness to doing so was a liability, they still respected and protected the android fiercely.

Now, seeing these horrid deeds done to the Egos, Dark felt a pure and simple  _ rage  _ course through him like a thousand bolts of electricity, jolting through his system and charging every action, every movement. His Aura crackles dangerously, and the demon is prepared to rip the whole world to shreds to find the Author and make him pay for what he’s done.

Once more, Dark fought to keep his magic under control, tamping down the boiling rage to use for when he  _ finds the author and rips him apart, limb by limb.  _

A muffled screech of metal made the demon whip around to see Google somehow holding a twisted pipe. Flicking his eyes over the trembling android, Dark’s eyes widen when he sees a large, gaping hole torn into the wall, metal pipes and plaster falling out of the dark space.

“Google.” The demon pitches his voice low, and his Aura stretches out to curl loosely around the twitching android, attempting to calm him, but to no avail.

Google responds with an emotionless beep, his eyes fixated on the mutilated bodies of his brothers. The glowing ‘G’ on his chest radiated a strong white brilliance, and Dark could feel the heat from where he was standing. If the demon squinted, he could barely make out the blue edges of the androids Aura flicker to life around him. A faint warning for overheating notification pops up in front of him, yet he doesn’t react to it.

Dark takes a cautious step forward, wary of the flickering blue magic surrounding the android, as it has never been seen before. All of the Egos have an Aura condensing their magic and making it appear tangible and real, though some of the Egos, like the Googles and Bing, don’t use their magic to have an easily summonable Aura. Seeing this...well, to be honest, it’s quite terrifying.

Forcing his panic and worry down, Dark keeps his voice low and says, “Google. Look at me.” 

When the android still doesn’t respond, instead opting to stare intently at the lumps of metal on the ground, Dark’s Aura decides to take initiative and wraps her shadowy tendrils around the shaking android. 

“Google,” Dark repeated, more firmly. “Look at me.”

“What.” The android’s voice was flatter and more emotionless than normal. He half turns to the demon, his logo suddenly dimming. The slight light cast shadows over Google’s face, making him seem like an otherworldly demon. His Aura flickers dangerously, much like the flames of blue fire.

“I know you must be very angry,” Dark started, taking another step forward to rest his hand on the fuming android’s shoulder. He can feel the anger radiating off of Google in waves, and he knew that the android would tear the whole world apart looking for the Ego who did this. “...but becoming like this, acting irrationally, won’t help you get your revenge, and it won’t get the Host back.”

“Ye-e-es it will.” The android glitches violently, and another overheating notification pops up in front of him. His voice remains low, but there’s a hint of a dangerous undertone to it like he’ll crash through the wall and go on a rampage. “When I fi-i-ind the  _ Author,  _ I’m going to make him wish Mark never created him-”

“That’s not going to help matters,” Dark said calmly. “I want to  _ kill  _ the Author as much as you do, but acting irrationally will not help us find them.” 

The android twitches. No response.

The demon sighs and his Aura floats outward to nudge the bodies of the extensions. “Google….I know how much the extensions meant to you, but acting like this isn’t-”

He  _ snaps,  _ whirling on Dark, the blue of his Aura flaring up around him. “ _ I don’t need your pity, Darkiplier. _ ”

Dark narrowed his eyes at the android, Aura curling protectively around him. “I’m not giving it,  _ Googleplier.  _ I’m stating facts and telling you to snap out of whatever the hell you’re in.”

The android glitches violently once more, warping the space around him with the force. “ _ I do-o-o-on’t ne-ed your sympa-a-athy.”  _ His logo glows bright and then dims suddenly flickering and stuttering.

Before Dark could respond, a low battery warning flashes along with another overheating warning. Google blinks and stumbles back against the wall, leaning on it heavily. The pipe in his hands fell onto the carpet with a dull thunk, and he beeped a warning.

“Lo-o-o-w power. 2% rema-a-a-aining.”

Dark’s Aura surged for the android, quickly wrapping around him before he collapsed onto the floor. Google stuttered and glitched once more, trying to shrink away from the shadowy tendrils wrapped around him. “...no… pi-i-i-ty…”

The demon huffs. “ **_Enough of this, Google._ ** ” The perpetual ringing around him grew louder in pitch, and the Void was seeping into the dark hallway, sending cracks and bottomless pits of darkness scattering across space. “ **_I know y-you’re not helpless, but you are completely useless like this. Do you really think that the Author did this just because he could? He did this to get at you a-and make you react irrationally. Control yourself.”_ **

Dark’s breath came in short gasps, and his phantom pain swelled up, sending shards of pain lancing through his body. He was losing control again. 

Quickly, he ripped a hole open in the Void and teleported the android to his workshop, and then stepped in himself, finally letting himself go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACK


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> F I N A L L Y  
> So, I had no ideas for this and decided to put a minor character and an Author POV.... enjoy this glimpse inside his head 
> 
> Also... I'M SO SORRY THIS IS LATE T^T

The room felt...colder and more foreign without his brother. Even though he hates to admit it, the Host has missed his brother all these years they’ve been apart.

He’s missed their banter, their late-night talks, their arguments, their insepearableness. He  _ missed  _ all of that with every fiber of his being. When he tried to push all memories of his brother away when Dark banished him, it left a gaping hole where his heart was supposed to be. 

Was it Dark’s fault? Was it his fault that his brother is as twisted as he is now? Is it his fault that his brother hates The Host and the rest of the Egos?  _ If the demon just would’ve listened and looked at the two of them, The Author would’ve been an asset to their little group. Instead, he’s been cast out and shunned, every time he tried to come back, there was always something that stopped him, stopped him from visiting his brother. He was cursed to watch from afar, never being able to come there and help his brother with his visions. _

_ He was wronged by the “beloved Darkiplier”, and for that, he will make him pay in blood, whether that be his or the blood of his family.  _

_ It is all Dark’s fault. _

  
  


**Arthur POV.**

He finished up the last sentence and sat back, a small, yet satisfied smirk on his face. 

No.

Not satisfied. Not yet. He’ll only be satisfied when his brother is at his side, broken yet alive, unlike the bodies of the other Egos strewn around them. Blood will pool on the floor, and Darkiplier will finally,  _ finally,  _ suffer as he once did. He’ll lay there, slowly bleeding down as the Author slowly crushes his bones underneath his heel.

He shivers in delight as he imagines the feel of the bone, the crunch, the screams of pain traveling deliciously up his spine…

He almost can’t wait. But he has a whole plan to do, and he has to execute it perfectly, or else everything he’s worked so hard for will come crashing down around his ears like the Twin Towers...so he’ll wait.

He would rather have his brother, his comrade-in-arms, his best friend, not be broken and susceptible, able to be easily molded like wet clay, but he had...tested out other ways on numerous subjects, and this was the only way he could exact his perfect revenge.

_ Revenge.  _ Such a sweet, delicate treat, one that a person must be careful of, lest they be burned. He knew this first hand.

After all, he had the scars to prove it. Multiple wounds, all over his arms, down his back, and one prominent scar on his stomach. A gunshot wound that had been caused by one very uncooperative victim. 

The Author had turned to Doctor Iplier for help, both physical and mental, but Darkiplier  _ just so happened  _ to be there at that time and place, and he kicked. Him. Out. Out of the Manor, out of their little group, out of their lives, and, most importantly, out of his brother’s life.

He got up swiftly, pushing his chair back with a horrible screeching sound. He took off down the hallways, thoughts roiling in tandem with the storm raging outside. His steps were muffled by the carpet beneath him, and he absent-mindedly stepped around a dark, suspicious-looking puddle of...something.

You never really knew with him. 

He stalked down the dark hallway, a series of bare lightbulbs overhead throwing dark shadows in his path, though those looked they got mowed down. He tugged a key out of his pocket and slowed his pace when he passed by the room where he trapped his poor, misguided brother.

Not hearing any noise or the rattle of chains that alerted him that he was moving, the Author decided his brother was asleep and moved on quietly. He resumed his fast pace and reached a door stuck into the rough metal stone of the caverns, and brandished his key at the small, misshapen keyhole embedded in the metal of the door.

The lock turned with a clunk, and he forcefully shoved his shoulder into the stubborn door, finally moving it with a groan. 

It was the contents of the dark space that excited him. It was pitch black inside, but he navigated around by muscle memory.

Two bloodstained rectangular tables in the center, one with a helmet affixed to the top, the other with countless dried bloodstains. A rack of weapons was to his right, and he felt a smile stretch over his face as he glided over there and brushed his hands over the familiar, worn handles of the various axes, knives and long, wicked daggers among other torture devices. 

A whimper from behind him made the sadist whirl around, and his grin stretched even wider as he realized that his freshest victim, a girl he kidnapped off the streets of London via the Void, was awake now.

His eyes flashed a dark silver as he used his magic to summon his beloved quill, and his grin stretched wider as she shivered, making the chains he had wrapped around her rattle.

Though, the shivering might not be out of fear, but of cold, as he had ripped her clothes to shreds before chaining her up here and leaving to deal with his brother. 

He swiftly stalked over to her with the grace of a lion, holding the tip of his razor-sharp quill as one would hold a knife to her throat. “Hello, my dear.”

She instantly froze, and the Author could feel every single muscle in her body tense up beautifully, only a small whimper escaping her mouth. 

He felt a shiver rake its fingers down his spine, and he chuckled lowly, pressing the quill in deeper, deep enough to draw the slightest pinprick of blood. “Hm...we haven’t even started our session yet, and you’ve already made me so  _ excited  _ to do this.”

Her breath hitches, and he can  _ sense  _ her rising fear.  _ Good.  _ Her breaths become shorter and shorter, and he knows she’s on the verge of a panic attack.

_ Well, we can’t have that when we haven’t gotten into the fun stuff yet!  _

He lays his free hand on top of her head, stroking her hair soothingly, causing her to calm down eventually. The tip of the quill was still digging into the soft part of her throat, but she didn't seem to notice. Her eyes, he noticed, as his own had adjusted to the dark, were closed, and she seemed to be relaxed, even though she knew that she was in peril.

_ Interesting.  _ He hummed, slowly retracting his hand and, eyes flashing silver once more, a paper materializes in his grasp.

She whimpers again, this time not out of fear, but need. Her chains clank against each other, caused by her shifting around in them uncomfortably.

"Don't worry, my pet, you'll get your fun soon enough," He starts to write something on the paper, the quill making a dry scratching noise. " But first, let's make it to where we can see each other, hm? "

She flinches when the fluorescent lights flicker to life overhead; even when they were barely functioning, they still burned her eyes after being in the dark for so long. She looks up at him, and he down at her, him feeling his eyes return to their normal brown. 

He watches her as her eyes slid from him, unable to keep eye contact, and then her gasp of terror as she realized what exactly was in store for her. His victim's breathing got shallow, but before she could delve into another panic attack, he rested his hand on top of her head, stroking it gently.

Her breathing calms, though the previously relaxed posture she had was nowhere to be seen. She's smaller than he thought, she seems the size of a small teenager, though she was an adult.

Those were his favorites.

He saunters over to his weapons rack and looks among the bloodstained metal for a mostly clean knife. He’ll have to remind himself to clean those later. He doesn’t want the pure blood of his beloved brother mixing in with those of the filthy inferiors. That won’t cut it for a relation of his.

The knife popped free of its clamp, and he held it up, letting the light flash off the blade. He turned towards her and grinned. “Ready to have some fun~?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you guys wanna delve more into the Author's head :>


	8. Announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TwT

Sorry, I haven't been updating...my motivation for this fic has taken a nice, long vacation, and I have no idea when it's gonna come back.

Every time I try to sit down and write this, I feel like I'm forcing myself to do it, and the words just won't come... I'm kinda at a stalemate right now with this, and I have no idea what exactly to put next. 

So, I'm going to take a bit of a break and see if my lost motivation will return to me, and I will mark my words, _I will_ see this fic to its end, no matter how long it takes. I want to finish this :3

Anyways, sorry again for not updating and probably disappointing you guys TwT


	9. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark is back. (And so am I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYGUYSIKNOWITSBEENAWHILE  
> But the motivation for this story died, and I'm trying to scrape it back together to finish this. I'm mainly on Quotev now, and I have a lot of stuff published there (50 things!), but I will not forget about you guys. I've recently fallen headfirst into the My Hero Academia fandom so I'll be publishing a book of one-shots if any of you would be interested in that. Anyways, I'm going to try and avoid another long pause like this, and my goal is to finish this book by the end of the summer.

_ He’s in control. _

Dark straightens his tie and steps out of the Void to a house of complete silence. He frowns and looks around the living room, straining his ears for any signs of life. 

A layer of...something thick...and otherworldly even blankets the furniture, and the air is thick and heavy, like the first few moments before a storm. The demon takes a step onto the plush carpet, his surroundings pulsing in time with his non-existent heartbeat, and he can’t  _ breathe. _

Nothing is right, yet everything looks the same. The couches, the rugs, the paintings, the wallpaper, the chandelier, everything is still there. But it doesn’t feel right. There’s something off about everything, and he spins around slowly, taking in the room’s features.

Other than the silence…...everything looks fine.

Dark feels more alone than he has in years.

His Aura bristles as he glides through the manor, searching for any sign of the other Egos, for his Family. Hell, he’d even settle for Mark right now. This whole thing is unnerving him right now, and he needs a familiar face to help ease his panic. But there was nothing.

Just cold, empty silence.

He drifts, lost, and alone…

Until there is a sharp tug and-

He falls through Darkness into the familiar, sweet Manor he had come to love.

Bim rises from the chair he was perched on and shuffled up to Dark, the show host's normally perfect and pristine suit looking rumpled and disheveled. He had a defeated air to him, and he just looked like someone just sapped the life out of him.

Dark was sure he looked worse.

“Where have you been?” Bim hissed, raising on his tippy toes to make himself taller. “In your absence, everything went to complete and total hell! The Jims have almost started multiple fires, claiming they were trying to help find Th-the Host, King refuses to come out of his room, the Googles are still down in their lab, Bing is MIA, Wilford is gone and  _ I don’t know what I’m doing-” _

Dark takes a small and startled step back as Bim sinks to the floor, head in his hands, his whole body shaking with silent sobs. Dark’s Aura partially solidifies into a vaguely humanoid form, and she drifts over to the sobbing Ego and wraps around him, cloaking him in shadow, muffling his sobs.

Frowning, Dark straightens his suit and looks around for the others, and voices a question, mostly to himself. “How long have I been gone?”

There’s a quiet popping sound behind the demon, and a familiar, strangely accent voice says, “Eh, for about 3 days….or maybe even 4...I don’t knowww.”

Dark whips around, an incredulous expression slapped on his face. “ _ What?”  _ His time in the Void seemed to last only a few minutes, but the sentient darkness had ways of twisting time and space, even Reality himself has no sway over the different plane that lived in the cracks and broken parts of Time, the shadows lapping at the realm of physical existence.

Wilford was standing there, clothes wrinkled and a panicked and jumpy Aura. In his hands was his old golden gun, worn and slightly stained with blood that had dried on the weapon years prior and never washed off. “Daaaark, yuh’ve been goooone! Us haven’t been okay since you weren’t there to help us sack the potatoes.”

The demon blinks, a confused expression on his face, before shaking that off and looking Wil with a glimmer of concern in his eyes. “Wilford...did you sleep at all?”

The hyped Ego shakes his head fervently and grins at Dark. “Nnnnnnope! I tried to help Bim but I think I ended up burning something...maybe it was my cotton candy?”

Dark feels yet another headache growing behind his eyes, and he brings up a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. Wilford’s Aura seemed to be ten times more powerful and unruly than usual. Its pink tinge switches between a painfully bright yellow and a vivid pink, and Dark tries to ignore it and focus on the Ego. “Wilford. After I gather everybody in the living room and speak with them, you are going  _ straight to bed _ . No arguments.”

Of course, Wilford opened his mouth to say otherwise, but Dark held up a hand to silence Wil’s rising protest. “ _ No _ . No arguments. Don’t make me leave you in the Void again.”

They stand there for many moments, Dark daring the other Ego to defy him once more. After a beat, Wilford sighs and drops his gaze, the electricity in the air dissipating.

“Okay, Darkypoo. You win this round.” He suddenly collapses as if he suddenly turned boneless, the carpet muffling the thump his body made as he hit the floor.

Dark lurches forward, every paternal instinct a certain soul within him jumping to attention. “ _ Wil- _ ” 

The insane Ego snaps his fingers and a large, fluffy blanket drops onto him, burying him in soft fabric. Only the pink tufts of hair are visible under the soothing grey of the blankets. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take that nap now…”

Dark pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. Looking over to where Bim was, he saw that the frazzled Ego had also fallen asleep, wrapped in his Aura. Manipulating the Void, he decided to send them both to bed, and catch them up on what the meeting entailed, as they were both exhausted, and it didn’t seem like he would be able to wake them up.

_ Now...it’s time to make a plan to get the Host back. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those of you who stuck with this story during it's hiatus....I appreciate it more than you know.  
> Now, let's see if I can get another chapter up soon-


End file.
